


mirages and lies

by Blepbean



Series: Weird drabbles 101 [7]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dark makes Jack surrender by doing some shit idk, Emotional Manipulation, Grooming, I’m sorry if I didn’t tag this fic correctly sksksk, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 13:23:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18477109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blepbean/pseuds/Blepbean
Summary: His Parents said to him to not do drugs.But they never said to get intoxicated by such a sweet lie.





	mirages and lies

**Author's Note:**

> Ummm... I’m back on my bullshit  
> It’s been a while since I wrote something in this fandom. I haven’t written anything like this. I literally wrote one half of this fic in a span of two weeks then the other half in a span of two hours, I proofread this only once, I’m sorry if this sucks but this is what you’re getting.
> 
> Kudos, comments and feedback is appreciated <3

It’s there, right at his fingertips. A path that can get him out of here.

 

But there’s another option for Jack. One that’s  _ fun _ , one that’s would taint him whole, one that would sink him deep in bellows of smoke and through those dark, hollow eyes that holds more than his nightmares. If he chooses it. He will suffocate, sink deep into his tears.

 

But it would fun, covered up by  _ him _ , him and his deep eyes.  _ Him  _ and his hands that would have him right underneath his fingertips and he’ll get used over and over and over and over.

 

Again 

 

But  _ him _ . Dark. He’s intoxicating, breathtaking mirage, a sweet lie. Something that would keep him forger in his cage for all eternity.

 

His Parents said to him to not do drugs.

 

But they never said to get intoxicated by such a sweet  _ lie _ .

 

Jack remembered when he had  _ something _ .  _ Something _ to fight for.  _ Something _ to keep pushing, to keep smiling in front of his camera, to keep treading on. That was all until he faded away into  _ nothingness,  _ faded back to just him only  _ existing. _

 

Now everyone is wondering where he is

 

He’s asking that same question to himself.

 

He has nothing to fight for now. Nothing to treasure close to him. He changed his phone number a month ago, his family doesn’t count anymore. He’s just a breathing, living, walking.

 

Corpse

 

He’s a corpse that’s silently screaming for help in the middle of the night, screaming at the top of his lungs in his little room. He’s screaming for help, for someone to hold him tight. Not like the way the guy held him in his thighs that left bruises for  _ weeks _ . No, not like that. 

 

He just wants to be carefully held as he carefully pieces himself back together. Hold him tight, never let go, always close, someone to cry to, leave dry streaks from his tears on his cheeks as he mutters  _ I’m sorry I’m a fuckup. _

 

But he knows that won’t happen. By the time it would happen he would have gone way too far. Way too far in his storm, like the one that’s inside his mind, circling and twisting, the cigarette that’s falling from his hands would make smoke, twisting and curling, up and up into the air until theres—

 

Nothing.

 

He’s nothing now, only someone with full of broken promises and cigarettes that can last him for six days.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but it feels  _ nice, _ he can feel the cold winds of 3 am brush by his shoulders as he walks through the desolate streets alone, alone where anyone can kill him, kidnap him, and no one will know that happened to him.

 

He couldn’t care about that, walking in the middle of the night in the streets under flickering street lamps is calming and nice, reminding him that he still exist, right here in this planet. 

 

He’s dragging his feet, earphones in with a song that tunes out the ghosts that linger inside his mind. He’s only looking straight ahead, not left or right when he crosses the roads, no cars passes here anyways. He’s looking straight ahead, always, sometimes staring at the cracks in the pathway that sometimes trips him when he isn’t too careful.

 

Walking at the three am to get milk is something that’s distracting Jack, distracting him from the negatives, keeping himself distracting by making excuses. At least, he’s not  _ thinking _ about the ones he’s lost that slipped away from his fingertips. All those pretty smiles and crinkled eyes staring at him, holding him tight, not tighty like the men that held his thighs, which left bruises there for two weeks.

 

But they held him nice, nice enough that he fell asleep crying. He wants that, he wants that again. Maybe it’ll happen again, someone will hold him tight again, maybe have midnight kisses and sharing blankets as they watch movies.

 

It won’t happen to him, at least for a while.

 

A replacement for that, that hollow feeling is people he meets in the bar, quick one night stands which left him wanting  _ more _ , that  _ more _ meaning love. It’s risky sometimes, but he hears rumours passed down, mouth from mouth. A man named  _ Dark _ , full of mystery, skin full of grey hues. Dark apparently fixes up living, breathing corpses like  _ him.  _

 

A tiny part of him is hoping, a tiny part of him is reaching out into the abyss and into the light. Maybe, maybe, the man named  _ Dark _ can fix him, make him feel  _ alive  _ again.

 

The slow automatic door creaks open, then stops halfway. The quiet jingle plays overhead him, then it comes back to him. Summer nights from high school days,  exhausted, beaten to death by the sun, it doesn’t matter though, as long as he has friends it’ll be fine. Jack could still remember the strong smell of hot food, the way the would buy all of the chips, or if they feel like being a little rebellious, shoplift and run away as they giggle themselves shitless.

 

The sudden static jolts him back into the reality where he belongs, he pulls his hands back from the snickers bars. He’s only here to get milk, then walk back to his apartment in total darkness. He’s finding himself humming, quietly, just to himself as he makes contact with the cold air, whooshing out of the fridge.

 

_ “You poor soul” _

 

He turns around, nothing, there’s  _ nothing _ there, but he felt something on his neck, cold, maybe a hand. Then, their  _ voice _ , it rough yet gentle. Maybe he’s just hallucinating, seeing and hearing things that aren’t there, maybe it’s his brain telling him to go to sleep, to fall into absolute bliss for eight hours.

 

But it feels too  _ real. _

 

He rubs his eyes, blinking quickly, then slaps himself awake. It wasn’t  _ real,  _ it wasn’t _ real _ , it wasn’t  _ real-- _

 

“Sir, are you alright?” He looks to his right, there, behind the counter where a nervous teenager who obviously doesn't what he’s doing. He shouldn’t be working late at night in this shady convenience store.

 

“Yeh I’m uh… fine.” Jack feels awkward, dragging his feet along the floor on his way to the counter. He’s shifting his weight, looking out of windows, looking at blinking lights, he’s trying to avoid eye contact, he feels him make quick glances at him as he struggles to make the cashier work.

 

“That’ll be $3.30.”

 

_ “You look so hurt.” _

 

There it is again, that  _ voice _ , the ghostly feeling of a cold hand on his neck. But it feels more  _ real _ , more down to reality. It isn’t real, at least whats he thinks, he’s hallucinating, no one is around him except for the kid, he’s looking through the foggy windows, no one is here telling him all of this—

 

“Sir?”

 

It snaps him out of it, Jack awkwardly laughs while the kid looks at him worriedly, like Jack is drunk or lost. He pulls out his wallet, rushing himself as he pulls out spare change onto the counter, it’s barely enough, enough to pay for milk that’s probably gone old.

 

“Thank you, have a nice night.” He walks out of here quickly, fast enough that the kid can’t ask question about his past, a career that fell apart right in front of his eyes, trying to piece it back together but it fell apart even more. Now he gets strange glances, sometimes worried, as he walks down the streets full of strangers that knows him.

 

Now he’s back in the cold, dark night, plastic bag dangling from his clammy hands. Back in silence, back in the streets where grass grows through the cracks of the pathways. He just needs to get back to his apartment, where he’ll past out on his couch from watching true crimes, sometimes he’ll see  _ something  _ as he drifts off to sleep, something vague, then it starts to feel cold.

 

Like right now.

 

He feels the frigid wind pick up, blowing away the leaves on the ground, higher and higher into the sky, higher than the street lamp that’s barely working above him. Then, just across the street, if he squints just right. He can see someone, a figure, just standing there, looking at him.

 

_ “Let me fix you.” _

 

_ Let _

 

_ Me _

 

_ Fix _

 

_ You _

 

Those four word ring inside ears, echoing faintly as he falls into the darkness, pitch black,  _ nothingness _ . There’s nothing, nothing that he can see for miles. It’s scaring him, it feels like someone took the air out of him, but he’s not suffocating, his heart is hammering against his ribs, fast, the only sound he can hear in the deafening silence. 

 

_ “How did I find you? Did you come into accidentally crawl into my home?” _

 

Then the darkness stops in an instant, he can  _ feel  _ something, maybe the heat of the fire or the smell of sharp perfume. It’s something to lead on, something to keep him guessing while he’s in hell. 

 

Then it all clicks, snaps into one place as it comes into a room, a record player is playing something classic, piano, it’s sounds grainy. Everything in the room looks expensive, grand, something that he can’t afford in his entire lifetime. He can’t see much, the lamp in the corner of the room which is sitting on a dresser could only do so much. 

 

Expensive chairs, tables that are made out of expensive wood, priceless paintings and a fireplace in front of the sofa is bathing it in warm hues. It’s a dream, something that he wishes he had. But he doesn’t want it now, he wants  _ out,  _ he wants to leave, go back to reality, back to the streets at three am. 

 

“This isn’t funny!” Jack yells, it sound like he’s talking to himself, no windows, the door on the right is locked. He’s panicking now, biting his lower lip, probably enough to draw blood that he should stop himself. 

 

_ “But isn’t this something that you wanted? Riches, expensive tastes? Isn’t this what you wanted.” _

 

That  _ voice _ , the tone. It’s deep, rough like sandpaper. But it’s gentle too, smooth like fine wine. It’s something that someone can get addicted to if they aren’t too careful, leave him them vulnerable as that  _ voice  _ is the only thing that can reach them from the abyss. 

 

“Who are you?” He mutters, sweat dripping from his forehead as he turns over books to find a key. This could easily be explained, this could just the a dream, a silly dream that he can wake up from, something to forget in a matter of seconds. But it feel too  _ real,  _ he can feel the warmth of the fireplace, the blood that he wipes from his lips because he bit it too hard. 

 

_ “Whatever you want me to be, Jack.” _

 

He hears the door click, then watches his heart jump to his throat as the doorknob turns slowly. He backs up, slowly, heart racing. There, there’s a man that emerges from the darkness behind the door. He’s swearing a suit, perfectly tailored, perfectly suited. But his hands looks rough, calluses on his knuckles, a ring on his pointer finger. His skin is a hue of grey, maybe it’s from a disease, an illness.

 

“Who are you.” He says, quiet, like he scared to speak louder than this tone. He’s looking at him, he looks _ perfect,  _ the perfect definition of a human being. Built, sharp jawline, perfect hair. But there’s something that he can feel as he gets closer, something that emitting, like it’s from the gods itself.

 

“People call names, I don’t do names, however, perhaps the name  _ Dark _ can ring a bell.” 

 

Then it all clicks, the name that’s passed down from living corpses. Everything that’s been told sounds like lies, maybe tiny fragments of the true story. Dark, a man that fix broken people like him. Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s something that can happen. But something is  _ off,  _ if he pays enough attention the colours starts to drain from every corner of the room, like a virus spreading.

 

Something is pulling him in, pulling him by cold chains and pulling him deep into  _ him _ . It’s scaring him, this a mere stranger.

 

His instincts quickly kick in, he rushes forward, hand reaching out, sprinting towards the door. But it’s fading away, it feels like the whole room is expanding with each step he takes, like a never ending hallway, it’s so close, it’s like  _ something _ is taunting him, dangling the exit right in front of his eyes, somewhere where he can’t reach.

 

“Let me leave please let me leave.” He pleads, begging for the single flare of light. Everything is now drained off colour. He’s trying to reach forward, take step towards the door, but he’s stuck, stuck into place.

 

“You’re not going anywhere,” the voice pauses, “ _ sweetheart,”  _ he hears it behind him, close to his ear where he can feel his hot breath. He’s suddenly thrown into his knees, like his legs just gave out without warning. It’s scaring him, he doesn’t what to be fixed up like a doll anymore, he can do it himself, he wants to leave. 

 

But something is pulling him closer to the monster.

 

There’s tears pricking his eyes, he’s gritting his teeth, it feels like someone strapped him down to the floor, it feels like he’s fighting against the whole stars to make his legs move.

 

“Let me go, p-please.” Jack cries out, looking around, trying to find  _ Dark.  _ He’s not here, he’s alone, he doesn’t know whether to feel safe or not. 

 

_ “Isn’t this what you wanted? To be fixed?” _

 

Dark suddenly stops, silence settling in, he’s thrashing everywhere to make his legs work, he’s crying out in the room, hoping anyway can hear him. 

 

“Let me fix you,  _ Jack.”  _  He's suddenly appeared right in front of him, kneeling down, hand reaching out to his face, he responds by trying to move away, away from his fingers _.  _

 

_ “ _ Isn’t this what you wanted? To be put back together?” He’s now behind him, breath sticky and hot against his ear. He wants to scream, so someone can hear him in the abyss. But he can’t, his body is pulling him closer to the darkness, letting him consume him. 

 

Hands holds his chin, soft and gentle, maybe it’s like that because he’s falling deeper, surrendering. He’s shuddering, finger on his mouth, tasting nothing but reeking of alcohol and perfume. 

 

He’s surrendered to the man that owns darkness and the abyss with no warning, crushing him with his gingerly touches on his neck. He doesn’t want it, he’s screaming in the inside to  _ stop,  _ but everything is slowly surrendering, falling apart to the seams as he slowly stopped caring, letting the touches from the darkness take over. 

 

_ Flew too close to the sun Icarus? _

 

Now it’s addicting, a poison, a poison that’s probably a lie, a mirage. It’s scaring him, but he’s doesn’t care enough more. He’s letting the touches, everything take over. All it takes is one touch for the darkness to take over.

 

“Look what they’ve done to you, aren’t they horrible?” Dark’s is now in front of him, holding his face to make him look to you, a little rough. Jack’s blue, piercing eyes meets the darkness, staring right at him.

 

“They’ve broken you so much.”

 

Then he feels Dark kiss him, hand on his thigh. A tiny piece of him is screaming to take care of him softly, gently, hold him tight, pick the pieces up slowly and build him back again. But it isn’t like  _ that _ , the kiss is rough, the hand on his thigh is painful, probably going to leave a bruise or a mark that would be there for  _ weeks.  _

 

He said that he’ll fix him, but this is good enough, a placebo effect, something to fool him. 

 

“I’ll fix you, the darkness will fix you. Let me take over,” he shivers, it’s whispered against his ear, leaving him shiver and asking for  _ more  _ because it’s a poison by now. 

 

“ _ Sweetheart.” _

 

The gingerly touches now turn harsh and rough, holding him like a rag doll, like he’s just  _ someone  _ to use. He feels the darkness leave bites on his neck, leaving him crying in pain. But the darkness didn’t care, only making him surrendering  to  _ Dark  _ even more by pulling everything away, draining everything away, only to present him with poisonous lies, rough kisses, rough  _ everything.  _

 

_ “ ~~You’reso beautiful.”~~ _

 

It’s a lie.

 

But how he says it feels so  _ good,  _ feeding it to him to even more to  ~~break~~ fix him.

 

The roughness from  _ Dark  _ is now poison, a pm addiction, as it leaves gasps that escape his mouth, wanting to fall deeper and deeper and deeper.

 

Until there’s nothing left that’s  _ Jack  _ anymore.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


~~It’s there, right at his fingertips. A path that can get him out of here.~~

 

But this another option for Jack. One that’s  _ fun _ , one that’s would taint him whole, one that would sink him deep in bellows of smoke and through those dark, hollow eyes that holds more than his nightmares. If he chooses it. He will suffocate, sink deep into his tears.

 

But it would fun, covered up by  _ him _ , him and his deep eyes.  _ Him  _ and his hands that would have him right underneath his fingertips and he’ll get used over and over and over and over.

 

Again 

 

But  _ him _ . Dark. He’s intoxicating, breathtaking mirage, a sweet lie. Something that would keep him forger in his cage for all eternity.

 

His Parents said to him to not do drugs.

 

But they never said to get intoxicated by such a sweet  _ lie _ .

 

~~Jack remembered when he had~~ ~~_ something _ .  _ Something _ to fight for.  _ Something _ to keep pushing, to keep smiling in front of his camera, to keep treading on. That was all until he faded away into  _ nothingness,  _ faded back to just him only  _ existing._~~

 

Now  ~~everyone~~ is wondering where he is

 

He’s asking that same question to himself.

 

He has nothing to fight for now. Nothing to treasure close to him. He changed his phone number a month ago, his  ~~family~~ doesn’t count anymore. He’s just a breathing, living, walking.

 

Corpse

 

~~He’s a corpse that’s silently screaming for help in the middle of the night, screaming at the top of his lungs in his little room. He’s screaming for help, for someone to hold him tight. Not like the way the guy held him in his thighs that left bruises for~~ ~~_ weeks _ . No, not like that.~~

 

~~He just wants to be carefully held as he carefully pieces himself back together. Hold him tight, never let go, always close, someone to cry to, leave dry streaks from his tears on his cheeks as he mutters~~ ~~_ I’m sorry I’m a fuckup._~~

 

But he knows that won’t happen. By the time it would happen he would have gone way too far. Way too far in his storm, like the one that’s inside his mind, circling and twisting, the cigarette that’s falling from his hands would make smoke, twisting and curling auto and up into the air until there's—

 

Nothing.

 

He’s nothing now, only someone with full of broken promises and cigarettes that can last him for six days.

 


End file.
